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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28906488">I Give You Magic</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riley_Summers/pseuds/Riley_Summers'>Riley_Summers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive and manipulative Longbottoms, Verbal force, squibs turn to wizards</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:00:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28906488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riley_Summers/pseuds/Riley_Summers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Longbottoms believe themselves as a prestigious pureblood family, having never produced any Squibs. What if they were wrong? What if the Longbottoms were producing Squibs for generations?<br/>One prophecy changed everything for this family.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Give You Magic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted for the International Wizarding School Competition forum  on fanfiction.net<br/>IWSC - Season 3 - Round 1<br/>School: Hogwarts<br/>Year: 3<br/>Theme: Write about someone repeating the cycle of abuse.<br/>Special rule: Create a potion or spell.<br/>Mandatory prompt: [Character] - Neville Longbottom<br/>Additional prompt(s): [Quote] "The difference between a weed and a flower is judgement."—Dakota Johnson“</p><p>[Emotion] - Nervous<br/>Warning: instances of abuse (verbal force, hitting hand, manipulation,  trauma based response from child)<br/>Word count: 2296</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I give you magic.</p><p>The words whirled around Jillian’s brain. Her head began to throb faintly from the weight of so many thoughts as her morals were collapsing from the decisions she had to make for her child.<br/>
The picture frames on her desk were no longer visible due to the stacks of parchments obscuring them. Some were for her work in the Department of Mysteries, others were of her own research.  </p><p>She lifted a stack to search for an inkwell. Finding one, she rifled through the mountains of parchments on her desk before she found the notes for the prophecy, her latest obsession.<br/>
Scrawls of annotations surrounded the prophecy written in the middle. She glanced around her desk for a quill — she had it just a minute ago — before deciding to fish a new one out of her drawer instead. Eagle feather, for her house, Ravenclaw. </p><p>Eddie was a rather quiet child, preferring the company of books and music over playing with children his age. He was well-mannered and spoke politely to all adults, but suffered frequent meltdowns if he did not have his alone time to recharge each day. Even at five-years-old, little had changed, though now he was starting to explore the social world at pureblood functions and mingled with the other children, of which Jillian was proud. Eddie had also progressed dramatically with verbally expressing his emotions. Although he was progressing normally for a child, he had not yet expressed any magical ability. Her friends and pureblood associates had began boasting about their children’s new found magical ability.</p><p>Oh, how they knew they were magical all along, and wouldn’t it be dreadful if someone in the social circle would have produced a Squib?</p><p>Eddie had yet to prove her hypothesis of him being a Squib wrong. She hadn’t tried to evoke a reaction out of him to prompt accidental magic, fearing that he may have a meltdown. Eddie was not a child that you would label as calm. Therefore, Jillian concluded that accidental magic would have happened a long time ago if it were to happen at all. </p><p>She had spent hours picking apart the prophecy and had come to an understanding — A Longbottom descendant will be a great asset in defeating some ultimate evil to arise in the future — and had accepted what she had to do. </p><p>Eddie had to become a wizard somehow. </p><p>Squibs were absolutely frowned upon the wizarding community; none of her pureblood associates would find him a fine fit for their daughters. There would be no magical children spawning from Eddie, and even if the magical gene manifested in later generations, that couldn’t be guaranteed. </p><p>So Jillian would have to force it out of him. </p><p> </p><p>“Mummy.”</p><p>The sound startled Jillian so much that she jumped violently and knocked the inkwell off the edge of her desk. She jumped to her feet, plastering a disapproving scowl on her face. </p><p>“Clean it up, right now!” she snapped, towering over Eddie’s stunned form.</p><p>Eddie’s lip quivered. “It wasn’t me, Mum, you knocked it by accident.”</p><p>His brown eyes were wide with apprehension. “I’m sorry Mummy! Annabelle tried to trip me down the stairs, I think it was by accident, but I was able to grab the railing at the last second. But I scraped my leg. I’m sorry, it’s not Annabelle’s fault.”</p><p>She wasn’t angry, not really, but she had to provoke him. He needed to be magical. She clenched her hands into fists to stop her hands from shaking. </p><p>“Are you deaf? Stop your rambling. Didn’t I just tell you to clean up the mess?”</p><p>It almost broke her heart seeing the hurt on his face, but she had barricaded her heart years ago when she decided what his fate should be. If he was truly afraid, his magic would most likely send the ink back into the inkwell at the very least, but nothing magical of the sort occurred. </p><p>He opened his mouth to retaliate, but snapped it shut immediately when he saw the look on her face. “Of course, Mum,” he mumbled.</p><p>“Pipa,” Jillian called. Their house elf appeared with a soft pop. </p><p>Pipa bowed low. “Yes, mistress, how can Pipa be of help?”</p><p>“Would you so kindly produce a rag and a bucket of water for young master Eddie? I’m afraid he has made a mess.”</p><p>Pipa snapped her fingers, fulfilling the request, having long ago accepted that she was not to question any of Jillian’s odd requests. </p><p>Jillian could have easily cleaned it with a Scouring charm, but she needed to evoke fear in him. She believed that fear was the best emotion that would produce accidental magic. There was nothing like adrenalin that made you do unthinkable things just to feel safe again. </p><p>But there was no accidental magic seen that day, or the day after. </p><p>Two years passed without any sign of magic from the eldest child of Jillian and Albert Longbottom. Bethany had turned her wallpaper blue and purple not long ago on her third birthday, having woken up too excited, and Annabelle, who was five, had performed her first incident of accidental magic not long before her younger sister. </p><p> </p><p>Jillian wrung her hands, her feet agitatedly pacing up and down the corridor to her son’s room. She had spent the last year researching, revising and perfecting. She had created many spells in her career, but this one, the Magimorph curse, was to be her greatest creation. If successful, it would give Eddie magic. She had not tried the spell on a living being, but she was sure it would be successful. She had practiced the incantation countless times, making sure she was announcing the right syllables. </p><p>She had convinced herself that this was best for her family, for Eddie, for the defeat of an evil lord who had yet to be born.</p><p>Jillian tapped the doorknob silently with her wand. The door opened with no more sound than a swoosh. Inside, Eddie slept soundly, his arms wrapped around a stuffed dragon. Jillian crept into the room, wand aloft and the spell ready at the tip of her tongue. She stood by his bedside. This was her last moment to back out. But she had weighed the benefits and drawbacks many times, this was the right cause of action. </p><p>She closed her eyes, the wand thrumming in her hand. With both hands, she went through the well practiced motions. Slowly, a rush of magic began circulating in the air before her.</p><p>“Et ego dabo vobis  magicae,” she said confidently but quietly. Eventually, her hands began moving of their own accord, encouraged by the rush of magic. It ended with a flash of white light that briefly blinded her, then the flow of magic stopped and her wand went limp. </p><p>Jillian stood for a couple seconds, surveying the air before her. All was still and quiet except for Eddie’s gentle breathing. He had not moved. Not even a strand of brown hair was out of place on his forehead. She quickly went through the diagnostic spell that presented a person’s core. A small golden halo hovered above Eddie’s body. Jillian almost collapsed from the relief— Eddie Longbottom was a wizard.</p><p>It was not until Eddie had started his own family that technically, that was not the case. His first child, and every firstborn in every subsequent generation, displayed no sign of magic until the years leading up to the age of eleven. </p><p> </p><p>“Who is your father?” Gran barked.</p><p>“Fwank,” Neville said automatically. He peered up at his Gran from the train track he was trying to build on the floor. </p><p>“And you should well remember that. Brave he was and talented too. He was a great Auror. You’d be sure to follow him in his footsteps.”</p><p>“Yes, Gwan,” Neville mumbled, his left hand fiddling with the miniature Hogwarts Express. Neville bowed his head, he only knew his father and mother as patients in St. Mungo’s who didn’t even know his name. Neville gave them drawings every time he visited, often giving pictures of the three of them doing things together if things were different. It was hard to imagine that the man who was unable to talk or recognise anyone around him used to be an Auror who fought dark wizards. </p><p>A sharp slap came at Neville’s left hand. Neville jumped, retracting his hand reflexively. His eyes widened. “Sorry, Gwan.”</p><p>Gran held out her hand expectantly. “Didn’t I tell you that it is evil wizards who use their left hand? You are not going to be an evil wizard. Do you hear me?”</p><p>Neville extended his hand tentatively, his body beginning to shake slightly. “Yes, Gwan, I wemember.”</p><p>Gran huffed in disapproval. “And you’re six. You shouldn’t be saying your ‘r’s as ‘w’s anymore. Give me your hand, boy.”</p><p>She slapped his hand ten times. </p><p>“You better start listening and doing what I tell you, or you won’t be seeing yourself on that Hogwarts Express.”</p><p>Neville didn’t know if the Hogwarts Express was worth it for this. Pop had defended him till he passed away from a splinching injury, but Pop wasn’t around anymore. </p><p>Neville was constantly thinking over his actions. </p><p>Was Gran going to approve or disapprove of it?</p><p>Most of the time, Gran had some criticism, comparison to his father’s good deeds, or a comment on his increasingly evident Squib status.</p><p>Gran expected him to be a great powerful wizard — just like his father — one day. Neville felt nothing like that sort. His stomach grew queasy whenever he thought about it.</p><p> </p><p>Neville shuffled several puzzle pieces around, muddling over what to use. He glanced at the door, gran was outside gardening. It usually took her thirty minutes with her wand. He glanced back at his puzzle. </p><p>He was going to visit his parents this afternoon, and he’d thought it would be nice if he gave them something different this time— a puzzle depicting the seaside. He’d never been to the seaside. It looked very beautiful, a place where good things happened. </p><p>Neville separated all the corner and edge pieces from the pile and began working. It was only a hundred piece puzzle so it didn’t take him too long. Surprisingly, Gran didn’t come straight into his room after gardening, and Neville briefly forgot about her until she appeared in his bedroom doorway.</p><p>“Neville. What is this?”</p><p>“A puzzle,” Neville said. His Uncle had given it to him for his seventh birthday. It was one of those toys that had gotten lost amongst his other toys.“I thought it would be nice to give it to Mum and Dad this afternoon. I’m almost done. Can you put a Sticking Charm on it so I can put it in a frame?”</p><p>Evidently that was the wrong thing to say. </p><p>“Your parents do not need silly puzzles. They need their son to have magical ability. Your father wasn’t wasting his time with puzzles when he was your age, he was learning how to be a respectable wizard.” She lifted her wand and sent the pieces flying across the room with a flick of her wrist.</p><p>“No, Gran!” Neville cried, diving off his chair, attempting to catch the pieces with his hands. Please, let them stick back together, he willed desperately. However, nothing happened and the pieces gradually settled softly around him like a gentle snowfall. </p><p>With another flick of her wrist, the puzzle pieces turned into flame. “You are not showing anything to your parents today. The only thing that they need to see is that you are still not showing signs of being a wizard, boy. If you didn’t look so much like your mother I would have thought that your parents were given the wrong child. Get off your fat bottom, we’re going to Diagon Alley. I’m afraid that’ll be as far as your taste of magic will get.”</p><p>Tears stung Neville’s eyes. He felt hot and cold all over. He had never felt so ashamed of being himself. He peered at his hands as if it was their fault. His puzzle smouldered to ashes around him.</p><p>Gran tapped him impatiently on the head with her cane. “Are you deaf are well as stupid? Get up, you fat, lazy lump.”</p><p>Neville complied, swiping at his runny nose with his sleeve before trudging sullenly after her. </p><p> </p><p>Jillian had watched six generations of her great-times more great-grandchildren to display no magic in their early childhood years. Her grandson Baxter was a Squib at birth, the simple diagnostic spell of her own invention proved that. And so was Neville Lonbottom, cursed by her decision to give Eddie magic. </p><p>Neville did not look like most of the children she had observed over the century. He was blond with hazel eyes and rather plump. Unlike his father, Frank, who was boisterous, bold, charming and strong, Neville seemed shy and timid. </p><p>He laid curled up in the hammock he frequented, a worn copy of Midgets and Gremlins open across his knees. As she crept closer, silent and invisible, he twitched, but that was the only sign that he may have felt her presence. Jillian was quick and silent, having perfected the spell long ago. It was done. </p><p>She retreated back onto her secluded island. She was over a hundred and sixty by then. Once she saw the Second Wizarding War well and done, thanks were in order to her dear friends Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel for supplying her with the Elixir of Life for half of her life.</p><p>The Longbottom family she had married into had produced many notable and powerful wizards from mere Squibs. Nobody else could say the same.<br/>
Her husband had died long ago. The secret died with her.</p>
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